Sometimes
by the.gold.in.the.shadow
Summary: ...I don't want to, especially when I could have gone longer... Another oneshot from the band WHY? There's a little fluff in this one though. HHr


_**Sometimes**_

**_This story at one point had a short of vague relationship with the line below, but it lost if long ago. Just so you know._**

* * *

** I don't want to, when I could've gone longer.**

* * *

_Number 4 Privet Drive, Smallest Bedroom, 1 o'clock in the morning, Summer before Seventh Year_

Sometimes the despair hits me and I can't breathe.

I revert to my base instincts. All my lofty, idealistic, unrealistic thoughts of saving the whole of wizarding-kind evaporate and I realize just how powerless, utterly powerless, I really am.

The first time it was the protection of my mother that saved me, I had nothing to do with it; I was only a baby. And the other times were pure blind luck. I have no special abilities. I've shown some aptitude for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but what can a 16 year old know compared to a man who has, to some extent, become immortal? I have nothing compared to Voldemort.

The Boy-Who-Lived.

What bullshit. There are many other boys who have lived. I just happen to be the one whose living coincided with the impermanent death of the most powerful Dark Wizard in centuries.

What shitty luck.

* * *

_Hogwarts Castle, Gryffindor Tower, 7__th__ year Boy's Dormitory, Dinner Hour, Seventh Year_

Sometimes I wish it hadn't been me. Who wouldn't? But then I think who would have to deal with all this shit if the Dark Lord, for his own mysterious reasons, hadn't said, "Here, Harry, I've decided that you're the person who's going to be able to kill me, so I'm going to kill your parents and essentially make sure you can never be a kid." Well, I'm sure he never actually said that, but that's basically what happened.

Neville could have been the one. Little, scared, brave, clumsy Neville. Its funny how I still think of him as little even though he's passed me up in height.

Neville as he is now could not deal with it. But then, if Neville had been marked, I do not doubt that he would be a different person than he is now. Would he have an inexplicable affinity for Defense Against the Dark Arts? Would he be a Parseltongue? Most importantly, would his mother died to save him? Would he even be alive now?

I can't imagine how I would be if I wasn't the 'Chosen One'. I, for one, would have a family. A family. How wonderful it would be.

The Weasleys are the closest I have to a family, and yet I don't have the same comfortable, lived-in feeling with them that I see them display with each other. There are some bonds that cannot be made without constant presence in each other's lives.

And I don't have that with anyone. Not one.

It gets so lonely being the savior of the wizarding world.

And all of this because an unloved boy grew into an unloved man and decided that he needed to conquer death and exterminate Muggleborns.

It all comes back to Voldemort. My whole life is structured around him. I often wonder what I will do when…if, I defeat him. Play Quidditch? Ha.

I hate him for all the evil things he has done_—_oh yes, I hate him for that_—_but selfishly, I hate him the most because he has taken my life from me.

* * *

_Pik 'n Pay, Muggle London, Noon, 5 months after graduating from Hogwarts_

Sometimes the terror creeps up on me like an insect that crawls up the back of my spine and tickles the back of my neck, causing me to jerk around and frighten the teenage girl in line behind me. My heartbeat takes a long time to slow down after such incidents, sometimes not for hours.

And I am exhausted. Exhausted all of the time. Such a heightened state of awareness cannot be maintained for long, and yet I maintain it. I have to. What else can I do?

Nothing. Not a fucking thing.

There are no other options. Not since I was a year old.

I have no choice. Just like I had no choice in breathing. Just like I have to believe that I will succeed, because the alternative would be too horrific.

I may wallow in self-pity, but all it takes is one thought of what will happen to you or Ron or Ginny and I can push the despair and questions and fear away. I do not feel proud of the fact that it is not the thought of unknown millions suffering that galvanizes me into action, but rather the thought of those few people who are close to me in pain. But I suppose whatever motivates me. Because I always have to move forward.

("May I help the next in line?")

I have to.

("Sir? _Sir_, may I help you now, please?")

I could make no other choice.

* * *

_Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Formal Sitting Room, 11:36 at night, One month after the destruction of the second to last Horcrux_

Sometimes I just need the comfort of a body.

Simply touch me, please.

Nothing sexual, I don't think I could deal with that right now. But please hug me. I need to know I'm not alone. I need to be somewhere besides my brain. No thoughts, just feelings. I wish I could be like that all the time. No wishing now, though. I'm simply here. Present moment.

Don't hold me too long, though. I might fall apart and I can't do that.

I just can't.

Let me go when I pull away. I know you think I should cry sometimes, but I can't. I wouldn't be able to put myself back together. Sometimes you just have to bind the wound and continue fighting. Continue killing, because that's just what you have to do. What I have to do. What we all have to do.

I'm sorry I've inflicted this on all of you. No, shh. I know you say it's not my fault, but I feel differently. None of…them, would have died if not for me. I ordered them there.

I swear I didn't know.

I swear I didn't.

I still don't know. I don't know anything.

I wish I could know everything. It would be so much simpler…

You'd think being able to do magic would solve all your problems, but it really doesn't. If anything, it creates more. What if they think up a new spell? How will I fight against it? Muggle wars are so much more simple. But who needs bombs when you can kill thousands of people with a flick of a wand?

War. Its funny how such a small word can include so many horrible things. It feels like the word to describe such a heart-breaking, world-stopping thing would be miles long and unpronounceable. But no, just one syllable. War.

You like words. Tell me, is there a word that can express this horror, terror, atrocity…evil? No, I thought not.

Fuck. Shit. Dammit. Crap. Hell…

Hell would probably be the closest word to describe what we are going through.

Oh, sorry for swearing like that. I know you don't like it.

* * *

_Number 46 Bush Street, Kitchen, 7:34 in the morning, Exactly 1 month, 3 days, and 43 minutes after the end of the war_

Sometimes I can't believe you're my…friend? I guess friend would describe you best, but you're so much more. Besides, we've done some things that are definitely beyond the boundary of simply friends.

It happens sometimes. I just never thought it'd happen to us. You were always Ron's and I was always Ginny's. Not any longer. We can't follow them to where they are. Well, you could, but my life has never truly been my own. Besides, I don't know if I could still function if you left me too. You say you never will, but how can you promise that?

Don't listen to me. I'm just being selfish and stupid. I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

* * *

_Hotel Ashland, 2__nd__ Annual Celebratory Dinner, Public Bathroom, 10:39 at night, 2 years and 3 weeks after the end of the war_

Sometimes, I just need you to _go away_.

Get to fuck out of here! What the hell are you doing in here anyway? It's the fucking boy's bathroom!

I don't care that I'm distraught, of course I'm fucking distraught! How did you think I would be! Fine? After that?

Fuck. Just fuck.

What the fuck were they thinking? Would _they _fucking get over their best friend and girlfriend getting killed because they made a huge fucking mistake?

No, I thought not.

Fucking, bloody hell with whipped cream and icing.

Are all reporters paid to be callous and go directly for what hurts? No, don't answer that question.

And fuck, it still _hurts_.

* * *

_Number 46 Bush Street, Living Room, 1:42 in the morning, 2 years and 7 months after the end of the war_

Sometimes you get home too late.

Where have you been?

No, actually, I know where you were supposed to be, and I'm not sure I want to know if you weren't there.

…

How's your partner?

Ugh, why can't I say that without sarcasm?

Bloody Malfoy.

I really, _really_, wish I could blame this on him, but I know I can't. Maybe I should blame it on your supervisors. Who was the bloody brilliant one who paired you two up? Oh, right, Johnson. She would have. Would have thought it was funny.

Ah, bloody hell, why do I care so much?

Fuck.

Sorry.

You're right, I shouldn't've stayed up for you. Now I'm all tensed up.

I'm going to go to bed now.

Goodnight.

* * *

_Number 46 Bush Street, Kitchen, 9:30 in the morning, 2 months later_

Sometimes I can't imagine where the hell you got the reputation as a nerdy bookworm even among your fellow Healers. But then again, I don't suppose they've seen you like this.

Or they bloody well better not have.

Who knew sex could be like this? Fast, passionate, and still loving? Maybe it's because we're friends too, because it sure as hell isn't like this with anyone else.

Whoops, train of thought derailed by a tongue in the ear. Bloody hell, that feels good, though the refrigerator handle is starting to get a little uncomfortable to lean against.

But, there goes that problem. Along with all your charts. Oops, I promise I'll clean them up as soon as I'm done with this.

Oh yes, _this_.

Remember when I first tried this? You laughed at me.

The memory still hurts. Not really, but I can always make you flustered when I bring it up.

Ow, don't hit me! I'm close to a very important part of your body and I could do some serious damage if I wanted to! Which I don't, but I don't have to tell you that.

Teasing is good for you. You get what you want entirely too often. Who is it who takes out the trash? Washes the dishes? Even does the laundry? Ok, only half the time.

Bloody dimples. You can make me do whatever you want when you smile. Which you're doing now.

Sigh.

Did you know that your lips are exceptionally soft today? And where is that bloody wand?

Thank god for wandless magic, though I don't think Remus meant me to use it for this when he taught me how. Though I would willingly put money on him having used it at least once with Tonks. Damn useful.

Oh yes. I'm bloody well home.

Ha ha. Corny thought, but true. I suppose you're all I have left. My whole family wrapped into one. But you can handle it, handle me and my immaturity. Besides, you're mature enough for both of us.

Oh, sorry. Am I not paying enough attention to your Highness? Right away.

* * *

_North Street Café, Table by the Window, 8:45 at night, Six months later_

Sometimes I get a vicious pleasure from making you so mad you look like you'd like nothing better than for me to walk off a cliff. You get red, and I feel powerful. That's not a healthy feeling, is it?

It comes at odd times. And I always feel bad afterwards, but it never stops me in the moment.

I really shouldn't have said anything about Draco, I'm sorry. Not really right _now_, but I will be.

Maybe, this is jealousy? That's an uncomfortable thought.

I guess it all began when you moved in with me. Even though we had slept together already, neither of us claimed anything permanent from the other. Rooming together seemed permanent.

And it changed the way I thought about our relationship.

I remember having a thought, _oops, there goes our old friendship_. I ignored it though. I'm good at ignoring things I don't want to think about. You should know that by now.

It worked so well for me during the war. Guess I never got out of the habit. Probably isn't the best way to deal with normal problems.

What? I'm sorry, I was having a soul searching moment. Please feel free to tell me how immature and hateful I am now.

* * *

_Number 46 Bush Street, Bedroom, 9:37 at night, Two Years Later_

Sometimes you absolutely astonish me. Its been, what? three years since we first slept together? And yet you've never done this before. But please, please, please don't stop.

Who'd have thought being on the bottom would be so hot?

You practically attacked me when we came in the door from our date. If I had known what proposing would have gotten me, I would have done it sooner.

So now you'll be mine forever.

Forever…what a fantastic word. I've never really had a forever before. You'll be my first.

* * *

R

E

V

I

E

W

PLEASE!!!


End file.
